What a Dragon Should Know (40 page)

She headed down one hall, turned, and went down another. She walked toward the room Annwyl lay in but stopped short when she saw the man reappear from the twins’ nursery. This time he held Annwyl’s twins in his arms. He stood in the hallway, bold as brass, in front of the guards who were supposed to be protecting the babes and their nursemaids. But the guards didn’t move. They didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

Then she understood. They didn’t see him, Talaith didn’t see him—no one saw him. No one but Dagmar.

It was something Aoibhell herself used to complain about in the letters Ragnar had given Dagmar. She wrote faithfully to a friend, mostly reiterating her beliefs—or lack thereof. But a few times, something she said hadn’t made much sense to Dagmar. Until now.

“At first they were always so surprised when I could see them, Anne. Now they stop by for chats. Tea. It’s like I can’t get rid of them. It seems to only happen to those who truly do not worship. Not the ones trying to annoy their family or who feel betrayed when someone close to them dies. But the ones who truly understand that the gods are no better than anyone else.”

Dagmar studied the male holding Annwyl’s babes. His mouth twisted a bit as he debated something and, with a small shrug, moved forward, heading toward Annwyl’s room.

Dagmar followed right behind him, the guards noticing her immediately. She waited a moment, took a breath, and entered the queen’s dying chamber.

He stood beside the bed, staring down at Annwyl.

“Wanted to give them a chance to say good-bye?” she asked coldly.

Looking up in surprise, he smiled. “Amazing. That you can see me, I mean.” When she didn’t comment on that, he seemed to lose interest.

“It seemed only fair to bring them to their mother. Don’t you think?” He placed the babes on their mother’s chest and stomach. His smile was indulgent, like a father’s over a puppy his children had grown fond of but could no longer have. “Now say bye-bye,” he told them, his voice teasing. “Can you say bye-bye?”

Dagmar’s eyes narrowed, her top lip curled, and her hands turned into tight fists.

God or not, she wouldn’t be letting this bastard off that easily.

Briec, thoroughly disgusted with his kin, rolled his eyes. The mate of his brother lay dying in the rooms above and all these idiots could do was argue about the best way to track down and decimate Minotaurs.

A waste of energy in his opinion. But typical of the way the Cadwaladr Clan handled something like this.

They couldn’t help Annwyl, and his father’s kin did like to “help.” So they would do what they did best: kill and destroy. But they couldn’t do that if what the tiny barbarian female had told them was true—that the Minotaur tracks may be in one location, but that only meant the Minotaurs themselves were surely in another. So they stood over maps and argued and debated and disagreed. All while Fearghus sat in a chair, staring at the table with the maps. Briec knew his brother saw nothing that was in front of him. Felt nothing except the loss of his mate.

Late every night Briec had to track an exhausted Talaith down and pull her away from her books so she could get at least a few hours of sleep. She didn’t sleep, though. She mostly cried. It was heartless and cruel, he knew, but it would be better for all if their mother—who sat silent across the room staring at Fearghus—would simply let Annwyl go. Let her go so they could release her ashes to the wind, and then move on to the business of raising her offspring the way she would have wanted.

It wasn’t that Briec wanted her to die. He’d never disliked her
that
much. But keeping her around for no reason other than to give Fearghus a still-breathing corpse to stare at ever, day and night didn’t seem like a much better idea.

Of course, whenever he thought of himself going through any of this—losing his Talaith this way—he felt the pain as a physical thing. Never before had he wanted so badly to do something, anything, that would help his brother. Fearghus had never been a happy-go-lucky dragon like Gwenvael, but Fearghus had never been like this. Broken.

His brother was broken. And although Fearghus’s devastation would have been great if Annwyl had fallen in battle, his enemy would have been clear. His task clearer—to kill and destroy all those who’d had a hand in Annwyl’s death.

But how did one kill a god?

If Briec knew, he would have done it himself long ago.

As Bercelak’s bad temper lashed out at his own brother and Addolgar—whose temper could be much worse—lashed back, Briec glanced around the room.

Something … he felt
something.

He immediately glanced at his sister. Her expression didn’t change, her annoyance didn’t dwindle.

If Morfyd felt nothing then perhaps there was nothing to feel.

He dismissed it all and focused on his father, wondering which one of them would throw the first punch.

Ahh. Bercelak, of course. Not surprising.

The god in human form stood tall and looked at her. His hair was wildly long, a good portion of it dragging along the floor, and it seemed to have an array of colors streaking through all that black. When she’d first seen him, it had been too dark to tell all the nuances, but now she saw it all clearly. Even his eyes were a strange color. Violet perhaps? Very much the color of Briec’s eyes, although more vibrant—and surprisingly warmer than Briec’s. More friendly. Just like his handsome face.

Everything about him said handsome, charming, and sweet—and Dagmar didn’t believe any of that for even a second.

“So you don’t worship the gods.”

Dagmar moved farther into the room.

“Reason and logic are all I need.”

“But so cold and unfeeling are dear reason and logic.”

“They’ve done well enough for me. I’ve seen my people worship at the altars of gods like you and I have yet to see the benefit. Men cut down in their prime during battle, leaving wife and babes to their own. So the wife prays to her god. ‘Please god, help me now that my husband is gone.’ ” Dagmar shrugged. “Within a month or two, when she’s worked her way through the paltry sum given to her by the army, I’ll see her in the market, selling herself on the street to the highest bidder. Hoping to earn enough to put food on the table for babes who’ll grow-up as thieves and murderers. Or maybe as soldiers, because their father was, and then it can start all over again. No, I’m sorry. That I cannot worship.”

“But to save your friend, won’t you lie to me? Tell me what I want to hear? Won’t you play those same games you play with others?”

“I’ve read enough about the dragon gods to know that will be of no use to me. I can flatter you with compliments, but what will it buy me?”

“So then why are you here, my good Lady Dagmar?”

“I want to understand why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you’d do this to them. There was no one protecting my mother or me, so her death was unavoidable. But these babes”—she pointed at the twins, who tugged on their mother trying to get her attention—“they’re your creation. Why would you do this to them?”

“I’ve done nothing to them.”

“Taking their mother from them? Do you think they’ll forgive you?”

“They’ll have to understand. She’s too weak to protect them.”

“Now, yes, she is. But not before she was pregnant. And you’re a god. You could give that back to her.”

“If I deemed her worthy. I don’t. But fear not, sweet Dagmar, I’m taking them away from here. I’ll protect them and make sure they’re raised properly. I did a very good job with Izzy.”

“You don’t think their father will do a good job?”

“He’s very angry. He doesn’t want to blame them, but he does.”

“He wouldn’t have to if you gave him his mate back. Only she can protect these children.”

“That’s what I thought.” He glanced down at her, an insulting pout on his lips. Insulting because he wasn’t nearly as sad as he pretended.

“They will
never
forgive you,” she promised.

“They won’t have to know.”

“Ahhh, I see. Take them from their kin and they’ll never hear the stories about how you killed their mother.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“Yes, you did. This is down to you, my lord. You and only you.”

“Well, it’s too late now.” He dismissed her with a wave, becoming frustrated. “By tonight, she’ll be greeting her ancestors. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

Her mind moving fast, Dagmar tried to find a way out of this. A way to help the babes first and perhaps, if she were lucky, Annwyl second. But for some reason, she could only think about wool socks. What in all of reason did wool socks have to do with anything?

She no longer even had that pair she brought with her. She’d given it to …

Dagmar rested her hand on the baseboard of the bed, steadying herself. She had only one chance here; she’d better make it good.

“And what of your mate, Rhydderch Hael?”

He stared at her. “What of her?”

“Ragnar told me the stories about the dragon gods.”

He laughed. “You mean when you thought he was a monk?” When she didn’t laugh along, he let out a bored sigh. “So what about my mate? And can we make this speedy?”

“I have a theory.”

“That does not sound speedy.”

“Everything I’ve read by humans or been told by Ragnar and those who traveled with him is that Eirianwen, your mate and the most feared goddess of war, is a dragoness.”

“I grow so bored,” he suddenly said.

“I’m sure you do. But just hear me out. I found this very old text written by a monk believed to be completely insane—”

“That’s always a good source.”

“—and he wrote about a tale of two goddesses. One, Arzhela. A goddess of beauty, light, and fertility. Loved by all the human gods. Worshipped as one of the most loved deities. Then there was her younger
sister.
Eirianwen. A dark goddess. Opposite in purpose and even looks. She favored the desert gods. Brown of skin and hair and eyes. And”—now she made a sad, pouting face—“so unfairly feared. Even by her own sisters and brothers. Because she looked nothing like them and she had a blood thirst rivaled by few. It makes sense she’d become a god of war. Aaah.” She wagged her finger. “But few human warriors would worship her. Those who followed Arzhela had nothing but horrible things to say about poor Eirianwen and gave her nothing but a horrible reputation throughout the land. Saddened, Eirianwen wandered away, becoming the traveling war god. Until she eventually wandered into the midst of the dragon gods. Unfortunately, she was human and they did not like human gods.”

Feeling her confidence return, Dagmar moved closer toward him. “And just as Eirianwen was about to give up and wander away yet again, tragically dismissed by everyone, she met the father of all dragons. Oh, and he took quite a shine to her, and so he and she could … well … you know, he turned himself to human. A skill he only had because he was a god. None of has own creations could turn to human, which had never been a problem until the humans began to fight back on being dinner.

“Then Arzhela found out about you and Eirianwen, didn’t she? And she was not happy, mostly because she still had no mate of her own. How could her scary, over-muscled, blood-drenched, murderous baby sister have a mate and not she? Even worse, he wasn’t one of the human gods but one of those scaly reptiles.”

When that received a raised eyebrow, she held her hands up. “Merely repeating the text I read, my lord.”

“Of course.”

“So there was war because that’s how things are handled between gods. A surprise attack was planned, with the retrieval of Eirianwen added in for good measure. Because it wouldn’t be right if they didn’t bring her back to her own kind who had been treating her so wonderfully up to this point.” He smirked at her dry tone. “But Arzhela, always a little too confident, forgot that her sister was a god of war. Battle, blood, and strategy are her friends, just as reason and logic are mine. She knew this would be coming and planned a counterattack, rallying all the other dragon gods to your side. And by doing so, she risked everything for you.” Dagmar moved in until the hem of her dress mingled with his long hair. “Because when the battle was done and the air cleared, there was no more crossing over from one god domain to the next. She was now part of the dragon pantheon.”

“So what?”

“Dragons’ ability to shift to human is not a gift from you at all, is it? It’s a gift from
her.
Because of her love for you and desire to protect your kind as best she could.” Dagmar tapped his chest with her forefinger. “That explains why, when the dragons of the Southlands fly into battle, it is her colors they wear under their armor. It is
her
powers that their battle mages call upon. Not yours.”

The Dragon God said nothing, merely stared.

“That was Morfyd and Talaith’s mistake all along, wasn’t it? It should have been Eirianwen they called upon. Eirianwen to protect Annwyl. Because of the two of you, she seems to be the one with the heart. The one who cares.”

She stepped back from him. “I know! Perhaps I will call on her. I’ve never called on a god before, but as a follower of Aoibhell, I’m sure my call will be heard by all the gods. Dragon, human or otherwise. Perhaps she will be able to do,” she sneered, “what you are not powerful enough to do!”

Then his hand was wrapped tightly around her throat, stopping any more words or air from escaping her mouth. He lifted Dagmar from the floor, ignoring the way she clawed at his fingers.

“So very smart, Dagmar Reinholdt. So very, very smart. Let’s see just how smart you are.”

He released her, tossing her back in the process. Coughing and trying to get her breath back, Dagmar didn’t have a moment to ask what he meant before he slipped his hand under Annwyl’s neck and tilted her head back. He kissed her then, and Dagmar watched as he pulled the last breath from her lungs, the Magicks that had kept her breathing, harshly ripped from her.

The dragon god stepped back and Annwyl’s arm fell to the side, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

He’d killed her.

Dagmar felt panic sweep through her, her body trembling as she stared at the dead queen.